Cousin Kate
by Moriwen1
Summary: Inspired by Christina Rossetti's poem of the same title.  When the blond stranger falls in love with Ginny, will she respond in kind? How much has the war changed Draco Malfoy?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Inspired by Christina Rossetti's poem "Cousin Kate."

_ "I was a cottage maiden  
>Hardened by sun and air" - Cousin Kate, Christina Rossetti<em>

"Ginny, dear, add olive oil to the shopping list, will you?" A frazzled Mrs. Weasley was bent over a number of simmering pots, several of them stirring themselves. Cooking dinner for such a large family was a hot, exhausting job, and while, with all the children grown and moved out, it had been easier for Mrs. Weasley lately, the work was back in full force over the holidays. Ginny, being the only girl, was of course drafted to help, though she would much rather have been practicing Quidditch; Fleur was perfectly willing and eager to assist, but Mrs. Weasley wouldn't stand for "any of that fancy French nonsense" in her kitchen.

A knock at the door. "That'll be George!" Ginny wiped her hands on a dish towel and dashed to answer it. With any luck, Angelina would be in the mood for some Quidditch practice, and as Mrs. Weasley wasn't one to refuse a guest (even if that guest was her daughter-in-law of three years), Ginny would be off the hook as regarded cooking.

"Hey, Gin. OK, off me now; I'm gonna find Angie a chair." George disentangled his sister's arms from his neck and greeted the rest of the family as he entered the living room, seating his wife in a cushioned armchair.

Ginny perched on the arm of a nearby chair to talk to Angelina. "How've you been?"

"Good. And you?"

"Great." Then, in a low voice, "Mum's keeping me in the kitchen, it's awful. Hot and steamy. Any chance you want to come play some Quidditch? You can borrow my spare broom if you don't have yours with you." Seeing the other woman's hesitation, "C'mon, please? It's the only way I'm getting out of the kitchen today."

"Give Angelina a break, Ginny," Mr. Weasley reprimanded. "She just got here; she's probably a bit tired. Can I get you anything to drink, George, Angelina?"

"I'm not thirsty," smiled Angelina; taking George's hand, she added, "but I do have something I'd like to tell you. I'm not flying right now, Ginny, because George and I are going to have a baby."

"Really?" The pout on Ginny's face disappeared. She dashed back into the kitchen, calling out so it echoed through the whole house, "Hey, Mum! Did you hear? Angelina's expecting!"

Ron, George, Mr. Weasley and Angelina were left in the living room, trying to make conversation. "So when's he due? Are you hoping for a boy or girl?"

"I'd like a boy, but George is hoping for a little girl. Honestly, I think he's starved for girls, growing up in a house full of boys like he did. You've seen how he worships Ginny."

"Hey," George objected, but, "You brought her half the store's inventory as gifts," Angelina pointed out.

"Like every year," grumbled Ron. "How come you never bring me anything?"

"Ron," Mr. Weasley tried to correct, but George only winked. "Good things come to those who wait. I have something for you, too, don't worry."

The room was quiet for a moment then, as the clock chimed the hour. Six o'clock - almost time for Christmas Eve dinner. Soft sounds of conversation drifted down from the upstairs bedroom where Bill and Fleur were unpacking; from the kitchen, rich odors of savory dishes wafted out. The home was small for such a large family, especially with the older children married, but it was a safe place, and a respite from the devastation the war had caused. There was warmth and joy there, even if Bill's scars and George's missing ear and a place by the fire forever empty were reminders of all that had passed. And in that moment, if anyone had asked one of the Weasleys, they would have said that yes, they were happy.

It was then that there came a knock at the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I realize these are short chapters. But it will be updating fast! Reviews only speed the process ;)

_"Contented with my cottage mates,_

_Not mindful I was fair." - Cousin Kate, Christina Rossetti._

"Who could that be?" George demanded of no one in particular. "Don't tell me that Percy decided to come after all - not after he insisted he had such _urgent_ work to do at the Ministry!"

"George," Angelina objected, "wouldn't you be glad to see him?"

"Oh, yes, even if he _is _still a prat, and Audrey is a mindless drone of a pureblood. Get the door, Ron?"

Ron pried himself up from his comfortable slouch on the sofa and shuffled over to the door, where the frantic knocking had resumed. When the door opened, the man standing outside huffed and said, "Finally. It's freezing-_Oh, my God._ Not _you_!"

Standing in the swiftly falling slow, looking numb and utterly peeved, was Draco Malfoy.

Ron's reaction wasn't much more polite than Malfoy's. "What the hell? What are you - you are _not _coming in this house!"

"Who is it?" called Mrs. Weasley, coming through the doorway from the kitchen. "Goodness, it's the Malfoy's boy, isn't it? Let him in, Ron, he must be freezing."

Ginny wasn't far behind. "_Mom!_ You're not going to invite _Draco Malfoy _in for Christmas dinner, are you?"

"Nonsense, it's far too cold a night to leave anyone out in the snow. Come in and sit by the fire, we don't need you catching frostbite."

"Ron, your mother is right," Mr. Weasley said sternly, and, sulkily, Ron shuffled out of the way to let Draco in, then slammed the door behind him.

Ginny could not believe Malfoy. It wasn't like he was a friend, or even a cordial acquaintance; he was the boy who had tormented her brother for years of school, a Death Eater, for goodness' sake, even if he _had _changed sides at the last possible moment. And then he just came and showed up at their house on Christmas Eve in a blizzard and demanded to be let in?

She told herself it was incredulity at his audacity that kept her eyes on him as he took off the thick black cloak which had protected him, sending flurries of snow to the well-swept floor, handed it to her mother like she was some sort of servant, then reached up with both hands to brush ice crystals out of that repulsively silky hair of his. She told herself that her gaze at the muscles rippling under his starched shirt-front was a stare of the utmost hatred and enmity.

As Malfoy seated himself as comfortably as if he lived there, his eyes met Ginny's with a look which said, as plain as words, _Like what you see, Ginevra?_

Flushing, Ginny looked away. She could practically hear his sneering voice taunting her, just as he had done so often in their school days - though, she thought now, had it been more taunting or teasing? In any case, none of it had been as embarrassing as being caught gaping open-mouthed at Malfoy like a besotted schoolgirl. She was Ginevra Weasley, a woman in her own right, internationally famed Quidditch player (well, not quite, but she was getting there) and by Merlin, she didn't care what one Draco Malfoy thought of her.

To reassure herself of this fact, Ginny snapped, "So, Malfoy, do we get to hear the fascinating tale of what brings you here to impose yourself on our hospitality like the pitiful pureblood parasite you are?"

"Ginevra Molly Weasly!" Mrs. Weasley snapped. "If you can't be polite, you can go set the table! Don't forget to include an extra place for Draco."

Quite willing to escape Malfoy's scrutinizing gaze, Ginny flounced out of the room.

"I'm really sorry, Mrs. Weasley," Draco was turning all his charm on the most sympathetic family member, "I don't mean to cause discord. Couldn't I just Floo back to Malfoy Manor? If you don't mind me using your fireplace that is..."

"Oh yes, Lucius and dear Narcissa will want you back for Christmas Eve, won't they? It's a pity, we have quite enough food, but I wouldn't dream of keeping you from your family." Narcissa had permanently gained the appellation _dear _in Mrs. Weasley's mind after the Battle of Hogwarts.

With a wan smile, Draco replied, "Well, actually they took an...unexpected holiday. It seems that some...wizards" (he had been going to say _mudbloods,_ but stopped himself just in time) "had been plotting to attack the Manor. It happens every so often, and it's usually enough for my parents to go out and say a few words about having seen the error of their ways, and so on. This time, though, I suppose the rioters had had a bit too much to drink, and started shooting curses. My parents Apparated off, and sent me a letter by owl saying that they were all right and were going to spend the holidays on the Caribbean island they had gone to, and that I could join them if I liked. I was going to Apparate there - they don't have a fireplace, of course - but I haven't been there since I was a baby, and it seems I missed my aim and landed a couple miles from here. I saw a light here, and since it seemed the best chance, I walked. I would have Apparated again, but I was a bit unsteady, and it didn't seem like the best idea."

Mrs. Weasley had been growing increasingly sympathetic, and was absolutely melting by the time Draco finished. "So your parents are away and you want to spend Christmas alone in that big manor with dangerous mobs around? Absolutely not. He's staying here, isn't he, Arthur?"

Mr. Weasley looked like he might object, but, "If it's important to you, dear," he conceded. (The concession was met by audible sighs from George and Ron.)

"Can we have dinner, at least?" grumbled Ron. "I'm starving."

"Yes, we shouldn't let it get cold," Mrs. Weasley agreed. "Someone call Bill and Fleur down?"

**A/N: **The concept of Apparation always seemed a bit confusing to me, so hopefully I haven't made any errors. I'm assuming that it's more likely for there to be a problem if the wizard isn't very familiar with the place he's going to, and that the problem can take the form of landing in the wrong place instead of getting Splinched. And, yes, a Caribbean island is on the outer range of Apparition, but it doesn't seem incredible, given that Lucius is quite a powerful wizard.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Because I haven't said it before: Neither the poem nor the people are mine. I only wish.

_"Why did a great lord find me out,"_

_- Cousin Kate, Christina Rossetti_

Ginny loved her family. She really, really did. They were wonderful people. George was fun, and Bill was sweet, and Charlie was impressive, and Ron was, well, Ron, and even Percy could be nice when he wasn't too busy being a pain in unmentionable places. All of them meant the world to her, which meant she would _really regret it _if she ended up strangling one of them.

So why did they have to give her every incentive to?

There were ten people eating dinner with them that night. She had set ten places at the table, and then gone to find the gravy boat which had inexplicably grown legs, started quacking and wandered away. When she got back, there was exactly one place still empty, and that place was next to Draco Malfoy.

She pulled out the chair and sat down in it, hard, refraining from "accidentally" kicking the leg of Malfoy's chair, or, better yet, Malfoy's leg. Tight-lipped, she waited for the tense silence to be broken. (There were _some _advantages to having a big family; at least she wasn't expected to be the one to break it.)

"Turkey?"

"Thanks."

"Pass the gravy?"

"Are those stuffed mushrooms?"

"Not _all_ the truffles, Ron. Take _one._"

"Lovely job on the salad, Mum."

"No, have some more, Angelina dear."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley."

The last was Malfoy, who apparently had more manners than he had chosen to display at school. He had helped himself and was holding out the ham platter, patiently waiting for Ginny to serve herself. Blushing, she hurried to help herself and pass the food on to George. She was starving, but did her best to eat with careful decorum, forcing herself not to rub off the spot where Malfoy's hand had brushed hers - for Merlin's sake, she wasn't a kid anymore!

The food was both good and plentiful, and for five or ten minutes there was nothing but the sound of quiet munching. As she started to fill up a bit, Ginny began stealing glances at Malfoy. He seemed relaxed, not (as she would have assumed) uneasy surrounded by so many Weasleys or perturbed that there weren't a dozen forks of different sizes for him to eat with.

Then Malfoy glanced to the left, accidentally meeting Ginny's eyes. She wanted to flush and turn away, but instead she glared back brazenly. He was the pale-haired intruder at her Christmas dinner, she had every right to look at him, didn't she? Maybe _he _would be embarrassed for once.

Apparently not, however, as the infallible Malfoy decorum seemed to hold up under all circumstances. He addressed her, "Forgive me, I can't quite - it's Ginevra, isn't it? You were a year under me in school, were you not?"

"Yes," she replied, "but it's Ginny, please," and then instantly regretted it. What was she doing, giving him permission to use her nickname? She had liked it better when they were "Malfoy" and "Weasley." It was just that no one called her Ginevra, and it had seemed so weird for him to.

"Then I must be Draco," he responded gracefully. "Tell me, Ginny, what are you doing now?"

Good God, was everyone at the table staring at her, Draco not least? Couldn't any of them strike up their own conversations? "I've been playing professional Quidditch. Ron can't get over the priority seating we get. And you?"

The roast asparagus was going around again. Ginny would have passed, but Draco smiled (definitely a smile, not a smirk, she decided), said "Allow me," and gave her a large helping before reaching over her to pass the plate to George. "I'm afraid I haven't been doing anything terribly exciting. I have a Ministry position in Potions Control, and really, it's amazing how lax some of the requirements are. Did you know that Muggles often go through several stages of testing on animals before their concoctions are certified as safe, while we only have one, which is optional for several types of potions? My group is doing our best to get some of the requirements changed. But forgive me, this must be terribly dull."

_Yes, it is, _but, "No, not really," replied Ginny, who wasn't about to let herself be outmatched in civility. She would have elaborated further, but at that moment Mrs. Weasley started bringing in the desserts, and Ron's cries of glee and Bill's demands to know what, exactly, was in each dish (presumably so as to find the one with the highest concentration of chocolate) made all conversation impossible for some time.

Ginny rather liked the lemon bars dusted with powdered sugar through a doily to make intricate, lacy patterns on the top, but she was amused to find that Draco shared Bill's love of chocolate. The two of them concentrated on the deep black fudgy cake, and managed to finish off almost half of it then and there.

Everyone having finished, the men excused themselves to go do something unspecified in the living room (as a child, Ginny had always thought it must be something edgy and exciting for which they left every year, probably involving copious amounts of alcohol and card games for real money; she now rather suspected it had more to do with discussing their favorite sports teams and dozing off on the sofa.) The women wanted to see the clothes Angie had been knitting for the baby, and Ginny was left to do the dishes. Which she wouldn't have minded (better than cooing over silly, frilly pink onesies), except that Draco stayed to help.


	4. Chapter 4

_"And praise my flaxen hair?"_

_-Cousin Kate, Christina Rossetti_

Draco was surprisingly quiet, and obediently settled into the routine of drying dishes while Ginny washed. Magic would have sped things up, but Mrs. Weasley was less than tolerant of magic around her best china, so everything was done by hand. It wasn't too bad, Ginny decided, being around Draco, at least when he was on his best manners. Even if he _was _utterly incapable of drying dishes properly. He'd probably had house-elves doing this for him all his life.

"You play professional Quidditch now, don't you?"

Ginny sighed. Time for the mandatory small talk to begin. As long as it didn't turn into insults. "Yes, I've been playing for the Holyhead Harpies."

"I'm not surprised. You were always a good Seeker."

Did _Draco Malfoy _just _compliment _her?

"You should really look into trading up, though. I mean, they're a good enough team, but they only hire women, so it makes it look like you're just good for a girl. You want to be on one of the really top teams, you have the potential. Have you considered Puddlemere United?"

"What? No, they haven't made me an offer. You follow Quidditch?"

"Only mildly. Actually, I'd just been looking you up. It's been so long since I've seen you, I wanted to know what you were doing."

Was he just pretending they had gotten along in school? What was this? Was he going to burst out laughing at her credulity and tell her all this civility was just a joke?

"Oh."

Draco was looking at her with his piercing eyes, and there was silence for a moment longer than was altogether comfortable. And then he spoke.

"Ginevra - sorry, Ginny - has anyone ever told you that you have lovely hair?"

Instinctively, she raised her hands to the orange hair that was pulled up in a ponytail with a rubber band. She had never thought the trademark Weasley hair particularly attractive - though Bill did carry it off well - and like this, unbrushed, sweaty, hardly styled, and now wet and soapy from her hands? "No, I don't," she responded flatly, utterly flabbergasted.

"Yes, yes you do. I mean...it's like sunset over the sea, or the first autumn leaves just before they fall from the trees. It's like rowan wood polished till it shines under the morning light. Like a roe deer glimpsed in a primeval forest," Draco declared, seemingly unembarrassed by his own effusiveness.

Ginny really wasn't sure how to react. What did you say when your old enemy started making speeches about how lovely your hair was?

"Um...no, actually, you're the one with the pretty hair."

Apparently there had been no need to worry. She had managed to put her foot in her mouth without even thinking about it.

Draco, amazingly enough, didn't laugh. " 'Wasted on a boy.' That's what everyone says about it - I suppose they said it about my father, too, when he was a boy. But I don't think so; I like girls with more color to their hair. Like yours. It brings out the roses in your cheeks."

Great. How did they get started complimenting each other's hair?

Oh well. Only one thing to do when a boy who you hated, were unlikely to ever see again, and who was obscenely handsome started acting smitten.

"Thank you," Ginny said, then leaned over and pressed a kiss on his lips.

It was a _good _kiss, and Ginny felt she had a fair amount of judgement in the matter. Draco seemed half stunned, but he reached out to wrap his arms around her shoulders, and she began to deepen the kiss...

...and he pulled away.

She was hurt. She wouldn't have admitted it, not for all the gold in Gringotts, but she was hurt. She might have been telling herself that she would never get involved with such a nasty young man, that he was good for a little pleasure at best - but still, she wasn't used to being rejected by men.

Draco drew in a breath as though to say something, paused, let it out again, and started replacing the dishes in the cupboards. They finished the task in silence, then went out to the living room.

Everyone had gathered in there, and Mr. Weasley was just opening the window to let in the owl which was rapping at it. He frowned, and handed the letter it deposited on the bookshelf to Draco. "I think this is for you."

"Excuse me a moment," replied the younger man, turned away and opened the envelope. He scanned the parchment and turned to the Weasleys apologetically. "I'm afraid there's been something of an emergency at the Ministry. They want me to come immediately, and I really can't refuse. At least it means I won't have to impose on you over the holiday. If I might take the liberty of asking to use your fireplace..."

Mr. Weasley replied with equal politeness that he certainly could, and after the necessary and formal replies, Draco Floo'ed out.

Ginny went upstairs to her room for a good cry.

Christmas passed uneventfully, as did New Year's. Ginny went back to flying, and Puddlemere did in fact send her an offer of almost twice the paycheck she was currently receiving. She wondered for a moment if Draco - no, Malfoy - had "suggested" her to them, before discarding the idea and writing back a polite letter declining the offer.

No one sent her anything for Valentine's.

In March she took Angie, now six months pregnant, shopping for a crib and toys.

On April first she received a letter signed "Draco Malfoy," professing his undying love for her. It was in Ron's handwriting. Apparently that was supposed to be funny.

In May she went out to a bar and took home a one-night stand. It was something, at least.

The next day, she went back to the bar. She drank rather more alcohol this time, and she never did find out what happened that night.

She didn't go back again.

In June, she held her baby nephew for the first time, and tried really hard not to imagine holding her own child gently, stroking their hair, feeding them at her breast...

In July, she came home for the summer.

The next day, an owl thudded against the window.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Why did a great lord find me out,"_

_- Cousin Kate, Christina Rossetti_

Ginny turned over the envelope six times before she managed to calm down enough to look at what was no doubt a piece of routine correspondence.

The envelope was of a sturdy cream-colored paper. Written carefully on the front with a fountain pen were the words,

_Miss Ginevra Weasley_

_The Burrow_

In the upper right-hand corner, the return address was also written, not stamped as many people did - apparently that was improper. Or, in any case, that seemed the most likely reason, given the sender.

_Master Draco Malfoy_

_Malfoy Manor_

"Another joke, from Ron," Ginny whispered, even as she ripped it open with trembling fingers. "Just another joke..."

The letter inside was written on matching stationery, evidently expensive despite its plainness, an elegant letterhead at the top involving a coat of arms with a snake. Holding it up to the light, she could see a watermark with the same design.

The letter was definitely not in Ron's handwriting. The handwriting looked just like she would have imagined Draco's to be, perfect without being pretentious, long "f" and "g" strokes sweeping down but never quite overlapping the next row of words.

Then she remembered how to read, and forgot all about the handwriting.

_To my dear Ginny:_

_I must apologize for my abrupt departure Christmas Eve. You will be happy to know that the matters were all cleared up satisfactorily, and no one who had a family to spend Christmas with had to leave them. My apologies are also yours for not writing to you sooner, but I know you are busy with Quidditch during the playing season. Rest assured, I have been following your most impressive string of victories._

_No, I will prevaricate no longer. I have not lied, save perhaps by omission: the chief reason, though, that I have not written you, is that (I admit it) I have been afraid. I know I have, in the past, treated you most abysmally, and I sense I offended you somehow on Christmas Eve. I assure you that that was never my intention._

_Answer me this one question, and I will be content: this Sunday will be the eighteenth. Will you come out to dinner with me, at, say, seven on that evening? I will, of course, come to the Burrow at that time, if you permit. If you prefer a certain restaurant, we could go there, or I hear that an excellent Indian one has opened recently in Diagon Alley. Only say the word._

_I sincerely hope this letter finds you in good health. I ardently await a response._

_Yours most truly,_

_Draco Malfoy_

She ran her fingers over the flaring signature, then read the letter over from the beginning. Then she lifted the paper to her face, trying to catch some trace of Draco's scent. Nothing, not even the perfume she had seen her friends use on their silly love letters. Perhaps that was considered vulgar.

She drafted her response a dozen times, trying to match the formal yet intimate tone of Draco's. She experimented with cold formalities, gushing confessions of love, even one rejection. The letter she finally gave to the patiently waiting owl was none of them.

_Dear Draco,_

_Yes._

_Yours,_

_Ginny_

Then she ran downstairs to find Ron and challenge him to a game of Exploding Snap, a game she had always detested.

Mr. Weasley came home from the Ministry (which didn't believe in more than three weeks of summer vacation) an hour later to find them throwing cards at each other and laughing hilariously.

"Did something...happen, Ginny?"

"Nope," Ginny replied blithely, capturing Ron's last card. "Mum, can we go out clothing shopping today? I need some new dress robes, I tore the old ones."

"Again?" Mrs. Weasley was amused. "All right, dear. We'll have an early supper, so we can go out before the shops close."

At dinner, the rest of the family pestered Ginny to try to find out what had effected the vast change. It was George who finally asked the correct, shrewd question.

"Did someone ask you out or something, Gin?"

"Yes," she blurted out, and then tried to save the situation, "well, yes, one of those options."

When Ron had finished choking, Mrs. Weasley asked hopefully, "Was it Harry, dear?"

"Mum!" she exclaimed. "Just because I liked him in school, doesn't mean we're some sort of fated true love. No, Harry did not write me."

"Neville?" Mrs. Weasley suggested.

"Neville is going out with Luna," Ginny reminded her mother.

"That's too bad, Neville's a nice boy," replied Mrs. Weasley.

"Was it Seamus? You and he were friends, weren't you?" Mr. Weasley suggested.

"It _was _a boy, right? I mean, you don't like..." Ron wanted to know, and an embarrassed Ginny had to assure him that the object of her affections was indeed of the opposite sex.

"Who _is _it then, Draco Malfoy?" George demanded, his voice dripping with sarcasm, leaving Ginny to reply, "Well, yes."

That showed some signs of striking the table dumb, but Mrs. Weasley hastened to declare that the youngest Malfoy was a perfectly nice young man, if not Neville Longbottom, and Ginny was of age and free to go out with any eligible young man. George came around, and even Ron was so relieved to find that Ginny's inclinations were heterosexual that he had to approve. Finally, under the collective pressure of his family, Mr. Weasley caved.

"Thank you," Ginny snapped, standing up from the table and putting her napkin on her chair. "Now that you have all approved of my boyfriend, can we go shopping?"

**A/N: **Three updates in one day! Hopefully this makes up somewhat for my abysmally slow updates otherwise. Reviews are loved...


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